Oh you know, those panel shows with smug white middle-aged comedian manfaces; nul points for appeal.
So I took to the Internet in search of the Hendrix chord, found it, and began the delicious puzzle of writing a song in unfamiliar territory.
As always happens when I am teaching songwriting to groups of students, even in my rule-free way, I am disobeying my own rule-free rules with gay abandon.
A couple of ideas disturbed my sleep but I actually put in 12 hours last night. To-beautiful-day, in spite of the sunshine calling me outside with the sound of bright and joyful bells, I feel as though someone has stuffed my head with felt. It's not a hangover as I ceased to touch alcohol more than five years ago, but the feeling is close.
I think of conscientious exercisers I know who run for thousands of miles or swim millions of lengths. Even the thought is exhausting. I think of Martin watching the extreme exercise DVD he bought, sitting on his sofa with a mug of coffee and a chocolate biscuit.
It's peaceful to just sit and be at one with the world, and I am doing exactly that.
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